Call Me Francis
by Skilpaddene
Summary: This Hetalia fanfic follows the story of when France started using a human name, and how it inspired others nations to name themselves. Contains FrUK and suggested Gerita. This is the first fan fiction piece I've ever written, so please let me know what parts you liked and how I can improve!
1. Chapter 1: The Name

France strolled through the bustling streets of his capitol, stopping frequently to take in the scent of freshly baked bread from the popular local bakeries. His leisurely pace set him apart from the chaotic steps of the tourists, who always seemed to be late for something. A particularly rude American shoved his way past him, throwing him off balance as he bumped into his shoulder. France scoffed at the man, and watched as he barged his way through the rest of the crowd. "Why can't people just slow down and enjoy the city?" he mumbled to himself. Despite witnessing years of tourist attraction in the country, France could never understand why no one could deviate from their vacation plans and experience the city the way it was meant to be. After all, Paris was the city of love, not travel guides.

His train of thought was derailed when he caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman, who had been mesmerized by the red roses in the window display of a florist shop. Her auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her flowing skirt was just short enough to keep things interesting. France did a quick check for a wedding ring, and after confirming that she wasn't married, he primped his hair, straightened his collar, and approached the girl. He wasn't sure if she could speak French or not, so he decided to start with a suave "bonjour," to break the ice.

The woman turned to him, and a smile spread across her face, revealing a wide set of crooked, overlapping teeth, which had yellowed over years of neglect. On the corner of her lip were a couple of crumbs from a scone. France desperately tried to look somewhere else, only to find that she had two squirrels for eyebrows.

"Well, hello there... What's your name, handsome?" she said suggestively, in a thick, British accent. France cringed and drew back in fear, wondering how he could have tried to pick up this girl. _She looked so great from behind!_ That was the third British girl he'd almost flirted this month, where were they even coming from?

"Um... it's Francis!" he lied. Even though it was so similar to his real name, it was the only thing he could think of, and he certainly didn't have time to explain how he's literally a country. He turned to run, and slammed right into another person, falling onto the sidewalk at his feet. He looked up to see the man leaning disapprovingly over him, and when his eyes finally focused, they met with a familiar set of green ones, which always gave away his feelings. Today, he could sense a twinge of annoyance in them, with an underlying tone of... relief?

"Well, if it isn't Frog Breath! What are you doing here?" England demanded, "And why the bloody hell did you tell that woman your name was Francis? Are you so drunk off of wine that you forgot how to pronounce your own name?"

France rubbed his temples in frustration. "That's too many questions at once, _Angleterre_." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the girl had left, then replied "This is Paris, stupid. If anything, I should be asking _you_ why you're here. That woman was so hideous, I didn't know what to do! I was under pressure, and I didn't want her to find me later, so I lied about my name." He paused for a moment, "and I can't get drunk if I'm only drinking wine!"

"Ha! You're always acting drunk, and everyone knows it," he retorted. "And Francis? That just sounds like a retarded version of France. It's _so_ original, I'm going to use that one!" England said, laughing at his own sarcasm.

France got to his feet and regarded his verbal opponent at eye level. There wasn't much else to say in the matter, and England had talked him into a corner, but he wouldn't give up without a fight. His eyes averted from England's stern gaze to his watch. _Damn!_ He only had a few more minutes until an important meeting with his boss. Knowing that he couldn't let England leave with the upper hand, he ripped a piece of paper from his daily planner, and scribbled some information on it.

"Here," he said, "call me when you want to finish this. I've got a meeting soon." He thrust the note towards Britain, who snatched it from his hands and examined the phone number written on it.

"Don't expect me to call you, Francis!" England said spitefully. He watched France grit his teeth after hearing his new name, and wondered what kind of person he would turn out to be if he didn't have people like France to torture everyday. He quickly stopped himself from continuing these thoughts, or else he would develop some sort of appreciation for the frog country. He turned to leave, and stomped away in the opposite direction he had come from.

"Oh, you'll definitely call me, _Angleterre!"_ France called after him. "If you don't, I'll declare war on your ass!"

England continued walking, but he waved two fingers behind him so that France could see. "It wouldn't be the first time! And don't say my name in French!"

France smiled as he watched England leave, thinking about how much entertainment he could get out of their next encounter. He noticed the way that his arms and legs seemed to move in perfect synchronization with one another, and his hair whipped slightly in the breeze. _He looks so great from behind!_


	2. Chapter 2: The Date

**The Next Day...**

France's butt started vibrating. Apparently, he'd forgotten to turn the ringer back on from the meeting last night. He fumbled around in his back pockets until he got hold of his cellphone, then flipped it open. He didn't recognize the number, but he had a hunch as to whom it was. After pressing the answer button, the phone nearly exploded with England's shouting.

"Francis, you wanker! I tried to call you last night, and you didn't answer!" France held the phone away from his ear, and waited for the commotion to die down on the other end before putting it back. _He's still using that name_ , thought France.

"I told you, I was going to a meeting, and it lasted longer than I expected," France replied. There might have been something else that he could come up with a clever remark for, but he'd only been listening to about half of what England said.

"Well, you said to call you when I wanted to settle our dispute," he went quite for a moment, and France wished he could see his eyes, otherwise he could never judge his emotions. Eventually, he continued, "I'm at the café on 47 Roo day... baby loan? I don't know how to pronounce it, just come find me. I'm wearing a green shirt."

France took a second to figure out what he was talking about. When it finally hit him, he tried to suppress his laughter, but a small chuckle managed to escape. "Honhon, that would be the _47 Rue de Babylone_. And I shouldn't need to look for a green shirt, I can spot those eyebrows from a mile aw-" France was cut off by a monotonous buzzing tone. England had hung up on him.

A few minutes later, France walked into the café, and immediately found England sitting alone at one of the tables, sipping a cup of hot tea. France's first instinct was to barge in, sit down, and heckle him for his drink choice, but after careful evaluation, he decided to keep his distance for a while. He examined his clothes, which were obviously lacking in any real style, though the Union Jack bandanna around his neck went well with his hair. Maybe one day, if they weren't at war, France could give him a lesson or two on real fashion, because they could both benefit from a closet overhaul.

After gazing at him for a while longer, England finally looked up, and fixed his eyes on France with an annoyed look on his face, but a sense of loneliness in his eyes. _He can be as cold as he wants_ , France thought, _but his eyes will always tell the truth._ He closed the distance between them, and took a seat across from him at the table. "Now, why did you really call me here, _Angleterre_?" he asked.

England scoffed. "I told you, I want to settle this!" He averted his eyes. "And don't call me that."

France maneuvered his head so that he could keep his eyes in sight. This was the only way he knew how to read him, because all his other emotions were feigned. If their years of fighting had taught France anything, it was how to call England's bluff. He cut straight through his tea encrusted exterior, and hit him with a blunt question, hoping it wouldn't end badly.

"Why exactly were you in Paris yesterday?" he asked. England dipped his head while exhaling, then drew a long breath and met his eyes again.

"I wanted to talk to you."

France nodded, it was just as he had suspected. It was time to set aside their petty differences and have a serious conversation, one that they hith needed. "I think this 'dispute' we need to settle is a lot deeper than name games."

England set his cup back on the table, but kept his hands cupped around it. "What have we been fighting for? It's been so long, and all I can remember is my boss forcing me into declaring wars." Sighing, his head dropped until it was practically touching the table, and his hands dropped into his lap. "It keeps making me sick. I don't know how much more I can take." He sniffled, but whether it was from a cold or from emotion, France couldn't tell.

"My boss forced me into it as well. One time, I tried to intervene, and encourage him to solve things diplomatically so that you wouldn't have so many war debts." France's fingers unconsciously made their way to the back of his neck, where he could feel the tips of several long scars hashed into his back. "It didn't go so well."

England's attention was piqued by this, and he lifted his head. Finally, he brought himself to look at France, and for the first time, he read France's sea blue eyes, and saw a heart wrenching truth. He got out of the chair and moved to stand behind France. Pulling the back of his collar down, he gasped at the sight. He wrapped his arms around him from behind, and laid his head on France's shoulder. "You went through all this for me? I had no idea..." After a long pause, he whispered "I don't want to be a country. There's just so much pain."

France was a bit startled by England's hug, but even more startled by the wet drops he felt on his shoulder. He quickly let down his barriers and melted into the hug, leaning his head against England's. They'd never gotten the chance to see these sides of each other, and France felt that their relationship had evolved because of it. "We're born into this fate, and it hurts, that's just the way it had to be. The only escape we have is to be human for a moment, and cling to our allies."

England sniffed again, and buried his face into France's neck. "But I want to be human forever... and with you."

France thought of a solution. "Maybe we can be human, or at least fool ourselves into feeling human. Cast off the name of your country, and choose your own name. Keep it a secret from your boss, but make everyone else use it." He pause to let that soak in, then added "I take back what I said yesterday. You can call me Francis."

England smiled for a moment. "Francis, I like that name. But I'm too upset think of a name for myself right now. Let's go to the pub, I'm sick of being depressed."

"We don't have any pubs here, but there's a bar around the corner," France responded. "I could use a drink, too."

"Hell yeah," England said. He released France from his embrace, then wiped the excess tears off his face with his hands. He moved towards the café's exit, then motioned for France to join him. "Are you coming?"

"Hell yeah." France pulled out his wallet, slammed a few euros on the table, and joined England at the exit.


	3. Chapter 3: The Bar

**A few hours later... at the bar**

France had insisted on ordering a bottle of champagne, and England had reluctantly agreed. They sat and talked for hours, not about politics or the economy, but about their interests and preferences. As they got to know each other on a more personal level, they quickly learned that they were as unique, yet oddly compatible as could be. Once the champagne was gone, England ordered the next round, and the next, and the next. Soon they were both hammered, and hadn't stopped talking since they walked in the door.

"Ok, ok, so wha's your religion, really?" France asked sloppily. The drunken slurs mixed with the French accent made his words barely discernible, but England managed to understand most of it, despite being equally drunk.

"Are you kidding me? I still don't even know if I'm Catholic or Protestant," he answered. Gritting his teeth, he added "I blame America."

 _"Mais, comment est-ce que c'est sa faute ?"_ France asked. After watching England give him a stupefied look, with his mouth hanging open, he realized that he'd forgotten to speak English. "Oops, pardon my French." He thought for a moment, as best he could in his current state, then shrugged and said "I forgot what I just said means in English."

They looked at each other, then nodded simultaneously, and took a giant swig from their glasses. England slammed his back onto the bar unceremoniously, and the drink splashed onto his sleeve, but he didn't even notice. France, however, took his napkin and started dabbing at it, though he was missing the stain almost entirely. Cursing under his breath, he gave up and threw the napkin to the side. Changing the conversation, he asked "So, now that you're not cryin' all o'er the place, what name did you pick?"

England hadn't actually put any thought into it, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "King Arthur, with all th' knights, and th' round table, and ... stuff."

"Oh, a name from a legend. That's so legendary. I don' think America would wan' you to be callin' yourself King, though. You should just stick to Arthur." His hands flopped to his back pocket, and after dropping his phone on the first attempt, he eventually managed to create a new contact for England. "Is this how you spell it?" He shoved the phone in England's face, and he crossed his eyes trying to read the screen, which showed a picture of England sleeping in his bed (when did he get that?) and a contact name, _Arthure._

"Francis, there's no 'e' on the end, you bloody git!" After a few more tries, both of them had added each other to their contacts using their new human names. The night continued with more drunken shenanigans, and neither gave a single thought as to their plans for the next day.

 **The Next Morning...**

England awoke to a series of flashes, and snickering "kesesese." When his eyes focused on what was in front of him, he saw Prussia leaning over him with his phone's camera. When he looked down, he noticed that his head was laying in France's lap, and the only thing covering his vital regions was a pile of roses. He shuddered, and scrambled into a sitting position on the floor, only to realize that he had somehow changed into a skimpy waiter's costume overnight. He tried to cover himself as best he could, then he smacked France's shoulder. "Francis, wake up!"

"Arthur, what happened?" France asked groggily. When he saw Prussia with his phone, he immediately exclaimed "You got a picture of us, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. Now you two will forever be at my mercy! If you refuse to do anything I say, I can promise that this will end up on my blog!" Prussia shouted, causing the other nations to cringe, partly because of the blackmailing, and partly because of their severe hangovers. "And what's up with these weird names? Is it some sort of fetish?"

"Why do you always jump to fetishes? They're human names that we made for ourselves," France explained.

A familiar, sweet voice came from the corner "Ve~ human names sound like fun!" France and England turned their heads to see Germany covering Italy's eyes in the corner of the bar, shielding him from the crotch roses and other "delicacies" in the room. Italy continued, "we should do that, too!"

Germany sighed and used his other hand to cover Italy's mouth. "Shut up, don't make the situation worse! I thought I you promised to stay out of this." Italy wriggled out from his grasp, and said "Come on, Germany. Let's do it! Maybe you could name yourself after Beethoven or something, he was really cool, just like you!"

Germany blushed. "Ja, maybe." He stood there stiffly as his mind processed the indirect compliment, then he snapped out of it and went back to business. "Anyways, we came to remind you that there's a UN meeting at noon. Seriously, you two shouldn't be drinking so late when you have plans for the next day. It looks bad on all of us." He turned to leave, ushering Italy to follow him. He leaned his head in and whispered "I told you not to look, either!" to which Italy responded, in a much louder whisper "It's nothing I haven't seen before, Germany. Remember that Italy has its fair share of nudist beaches too!"

"We'll wait outside for you, Brüder!" Germany said immediately. He rushed Italy out the door as fast as possible.

Once they were out, Prussia turned back to the two countries on the floor and asked "So, did you guys really...?" England turned red and looked at France.

"Don't look at me!" France complained. "I don't remember anything either. But it's going to kill me if I don't find out."

"Well then, fuck you!" England exclaimed, with a grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck you too!" France responded. He nodded, satisfied. "There, now we can say that we fucked."

"You guys are so vulgar," Prussia cut in. "Just get off the floor and put on some clothes. I'm outta here." On his way out, France vaguely heard him mumbling "Human names, huh? Maybe if I had twice the names, I'd be twice as awesome."

Afterwards, Italy incessantly called Germany "Ludwig." Austria favored it, and Prussia thought it was cute, so Germany eventually accepted it, and even started addressing Italy as "Feliciano," much to Italy's enjoyment. France and England kept using their names privately, but worked up the confidence to use them in public over time. Human names started trending throughout the world, and each country selected their own first and last names so that they could talk to each other casually, and as humans, rather than nations. It was a small step of rebellion against their bosses, and one of the first times the whole world got to represent themselves instead of their populations.

 **~The End~**


End file.
